


Last Resort

by Rirren



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Community: ohsam, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sam Winchester-Centric, Sam-Centric, Suicidal Sam, Suicide Attempt, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rirren/pseuds/Rirren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean keeps dying and Sam can't change that. But Sam's last resort might just be the last thing he ever does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Resort

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/659989.html?thread=3693333#t3693333) from the Triple Play challenge at the [Oh Sam community](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Big thanks to flawlessglitch for doing such a great job betaing this and helping me with the character voice :)

Sam is staring down at his burger, fiddling with the greasy paper it’s wrapped in when Dean’s embarrassing noises of enjoyment suddenly change into chokes and gasps.

Choking again.

Sam isn’t really surprised. Letting Dean eat anything has a 50% chance of him dying, and of those deaths there’s a 50% chance of him choking to death, a 40% chance of him dying of food poisoning, and a 10% chance of him biting his tongue and drowning in his own blood. He shouldn’t have let him eat but Dean complained so much when Sam tried to forbid him that he just decided to give in and continue researching how to escape the time loop next Tuesday.

Sam grips the motel table hard, waiting to hear Asia start up. He’s startled by a hand suddenly reaching out and grasping onto his flannel sleeve, and he looks up involuntarily. Dean is pounding desperately on his chest with one hand, the other gripping Sam’s arm, and his face is turning rapidly red, eyes looking pleadingly at Sam.

And all of sudden, Sam feels like a giant asshole. Has he really just been sitting here ignoring his brother dying in front of him?

He jumps out of his chair, going over to Dean and grabbing him in a loose hug, careful not to constrict his choking brother.

“Sshh, Dean, Dean, just calm down, it’ll be over soon,” he says, his voice cracking with unshed tears as he rocks his struggling brother.

He knows better than to try the Heimlich manoeuvre. The one and only time he tried, one of Dean’s ribs broke, piercing his lung. He figures that was his punishment for trying to prevent Dean’s death.

As terrible as it sounds, watching Dean choke on food is better than watching him die from a punctured lung. It seemed less painful as well, and at this point, minimising Dean’s pain as he dies is one of the few things he has control over.

Dean is staring up at him through watery eyes, something like a sheen of betrayal there. He’s struggling still, obviously confused that his brother is doing nothing to help him, but his struggles are getting weaker by the second.

Sam clutches him and buries his face in Dean’s hair. And eventually Dean’s desperate throes slow and finally, stop.

Sam exhales shakily, breathes in the scent of his brother’s shampoo and hugs him tighter. For a second there is tranquillity. Just the closeness of his brother in his arms.

_Click._

_“Heat of the moment!”_

 

\---

The next few Tuesdays Sam refuses to get out of bed. He lies there, throws the cover over himself and doesn’t move. Dean even tries to pull him out by his leg one time and Sam grabs onto the head rail and kicks back. The whole situation would be almost funny if it weren’t for the fact that one of those kicks causes Dean’s death when he gets sent tumbling backwards to hit his head on the wall.

Dean is nonplussed.

“Sammy, man … are you really gonna stay in bed all day?”

“Yes,” comes Sam’s emphatic reply.

He has the covers over his head and is curled up around his pillow. Dean has already gotten dressed and drawn out his morning ritual as much as possible to give Sam more time in bed but at 11 o’clock in the morning it seems like his patience has run out.

“We can’t just hang around here. I’m hungry. C’mon, we can have a day off if you want but let’s go outside at least.”

“Nobody’s keeping you here, Dean!” Sam shouts back. “Go if you want but I’m staying.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, an unsure shuffling from Dean before he says, “Okay … well, I’m gonna get breakfast. I’ll bring you something back.”

And then there is the sound of footsteps, the quiet closing of the motel door and silence. Blissful silence. Sam snuffles into the pillow and dozes off.

But he doesn’t even get an hour to ignore the world and sleep before Asia is playing again.

 

\---

Sleeping gets old after four Tuesdays but Sam carries on for two weeks. It feels like something is literally pressing him down, physically stopping him from getting out of bed. He doesn’t see any point in moving; Dean dies whether he gets out of bed or not, whether he tries to save him or not. If everything he does has the same outcome, why bother trying so hard to change anything?

But he never gets enough rest, enough hours of oblivion before Dean dies and Asia wakes him up again. The more he sleeps the less time it takes the time loop to restart. The last few Tuesdays Dean barely manages to chirp out, “Rise and shine, Sammy!” before he’s dying of a heart attack or a brain haemorrhage or something else equally contrived.

Sleeping away his problems isn’t working anymore.

The next Tuesday he gets up and drags Dean to the nearest bar. And proceeds to get absolutely wasted before it’s even 10 o’clock in the morning.

He ignores Dean for much of the time; slamming down shot after shot of whiskey like it's a competition. He can't look at his brother without remembering what he looks like shot, hung, cut to ribbons, strangled. It's better if he concentrates on other people, doesn't listen to Dean's voice berating him, and pretends he's out here drinking on his own.

He's chatting up the bar staff when Dean apparently decides Sam's been bothering the daytime alcoholics for long enough. He puts down a wad of bills to cover Sam's tab, gives a generic 'Sorry 'bout my brother' tight smile and pulls him out of the bar.

The dazzling sun outside makes Sam wince. He's stumbling and being pulled along by Dean, and he finds himself getting annoyed by his brother's clinginess.

“Dean, why – why -” says Sam and he tries to free himself from his brother's hold. Dean doesn't let him go immediately until Sam shoves him hard in the chest in a moment of juvenile anger. Dean steps back, raising his hands up.

“Why you always got to look after me!” Sam spits out. “This is what got us in this mess.”

“Sam – what -?”

“No! No, it's my turn to save you!”

Sam turns around to start walking back, to go back to the motel, do more research, he doesn't know. But the change in direction hits him with a wave of dizziness and he sways, suddenly unsure which way is up.

And then he’s falling. There’s a screech of brakes, Dean screaming his name, and something pushes him, bowling him over. He rolls, the world flipping around him again and again and he hears the thud and the crash that he knows are the sounds of Dean being hit by a car.

He comes to a stop spread-eagled on the hot tarmac on the other side of the road and he turns his head to see the unmoving huddle of blood and clothes under the car wheel that is his brother.

And he’s not thinking about Dean dying again. He’s thinking, ‘ _I_ almost died’.

 

\---

After hammering the clock radio into silence the next Tuesday, he lies there in bed and thinks about it.

Dean pushed him out the way, but what if he hadn’t? What if Sam had been the one run over by Mr Pickett? Every Tuesday someone dies, _Dean_ dies, but what if Sam died instead? Is that what he has to do to get out of the loop? The loop revolves around him, he’s the only one who retains his memories of each Tuesday. Maybe if he removes himself from the equation the loop will dissolve.

Sam sits up, suddenly convinced that he’s right. It just fits together so well, the only thing that makes sense, that it _can’t_ be wrong.

He’s tried everything else, he’s looked for every supernatural creature he can think of that might be causing this. There's nothing he can see that's holding this loop together, except him.

Dean is fussing over the broken radio, muttering about ‘cranky Sasquatches’ and Sam looks over, drinking in the sight of his brother for what could be the last time. He doesn’t know if the time loop will stop after his death and carry on to Wednesday, or whether it will revert back to Tuesday morning with normal time progression reinstalled.

This could be real, _final_ death for Sam, and maybe he should be more concerned about that but he’s just too tired and the concept of eternal rest is just so goddamn tempting.

“Dean,” he says. “I’ll deal with the stupid radio. Why don’t you go get breakfast for us? I’m hungry.”

Dean rolls his eyes, tells Sam that the charge for the radio is coming from _his_ fraudulent credit card, but he leaves without much protest.

Thirty carefully counted seconds after the motel door shuts Sam springs into action.

He’s familiar with death, he’s seen it happen and dealt it out many times. He knows which ways are painful and which are messy. Maybe using his gun would be quicker but he doesn't want to leave Dean with the image of his brother with a hole in his head, blood and brains scattered all over the walls.

On the off-chance that this doesn’t just reset the time loop, he doesn’t want to leave something really messy that would traumatise Dean. And he wants it to be quick, he can't be interrupted.

He roots through his bag, finds one of his belts and tugs it, testing its strength. Rope would be better but that’s in the car and he can't risk it. He also grabs one of his notebooks and a pen and sets them on the floor in front of him, considering his words.

There’s nothing he can really write that would satisfy Dean, that wouldn’t piss him off. He chews the end of the pen, frantically trying to think, but he gives up. He doesn’t have enough time for this.

In the end he just scribbles out the first thing that comes into his head. It’s a pathetic excuse for a suicide note but killing himself isn't the primary purpose to this, getting Dean out of this loop is.

_Sorry. This was the only way out I could see. Sam_

He puts the notebook on Dean’s bed and he takes the belt and goes over to the bathroom door, shutting it. He kneels, leaning against the door, facing the motel room entrance and loops the belt through the door handle and around his neck. He knots it and pulls it tight.

It’s not the most dignified death and it would be more certain if he could hang the belt from the ceiling somewhere but none of the fixtures look strong enough to take his weight. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’ll work and that’s what's important.

He sits down, leaning back and the belt pulls tight around his neck, cutting off his air supply.

His body jerks automatically, self-preservation instincts kicking in but Sam fights against it. He crosses his arms and clutches hard at his chest to stop his hands from pushing himself up from the floor. He lets gravity do the work for him.

His vision is blurring and the room is silent except for his pained chokes. But he starts to hear something anyway – a roaring of white noise, growing louder and louder and there are flashes of light now, strange and frightening. He doesn't know what's going on, he's trying to think, trying to calculate how much longer until he falls unconscious, but nothing makes sense anymore.

And then a blanket of grey swallows his vision and he loses all sense of self with it.

 

\---

Someone's slapping him on the face. There's a discordant sound of something that won't shut up – voices?

He opens his eyes, feeling groggy and wondering when he fell asleep, and sees his brother leaning over him. Dean is gripping him tightly by the shoulders and he's saying something, but the sound is so washed-out Sam can barely understand.

"-hell were you thinking! If I hadn't come back for my wallet it would've been too late, do you get that! You stupid, stupid-"

Sam gets it. This isn't a new Tuesday; Dean somehow managed to save him before he could finish suffocating.

He groans and pushes Dean away, managing to get himself up off the floor into a sitting position. The movement sends a flash of pain through him and his hand comes up reflexively to touch his throat. The skin feels puffy and sore and he winces, coughing.

He glances up and sees Dean watching him without a word, his eyes narrowed and wary, like he thinks anything could set Sam off, like Sam is some kind of delicate flower.

Sam looks away. Resignation floods his body at the thought of having to do it again, to make sure Dean doesn't interfere.

“Sam-” Dean starts to say and that one word is so strangled with hurt that Sam flinches. “Sam, why? Why the fuck would you-? Is it the deal? The demons? ”

“No, Dean,” Sam sighs and he gets up, Dean following him.

“Well, then … why? I don't get it, you were fine yesterday.”

Sam ignores Dean persistently trying to meet his eyes, and scans the room, thinking of what he should use next time, how he could get Dean to leave him alone long enough that he could die. Strangulation is relatively fast but since Dean stopped him anyway he might need to consider the gun after all.

“Sam! Stop ignoring me!”

Sam jumps; for a second he'd actually forgotten Dean was still there.

“I'm fine,” Sam makes himself say firmly, trying to get out of this conversation. He's already been through all the 'what's-the-matter' conversations he can handle.

“There is no _way_ you're fine,” Dean says incredulously, going to grab Sam's arm and _that_ … That is when Sam snaps.

“Just leave it! I can't – I'm trying to save you, to get us out of this thing, and I _can't do it_ if you keep-”

Sam breathes in sharply and brings his hands up to his face, fingers splayed across his brow and pressing hard enough to hurt. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down.

There's a tentative hand on Sam's shoulder.

“Sammy … what...?”

“I can't take it anymore,” Sam forces out. “You keep dying and I can't stop it. But you're gonna go to hell anyway even if I _can_. How can I...? God Dean, it's all my fault.”

Sam is pulled suddenly into a tight hug, Dean's arms around him, and he soaks up the feeling of being surrounded by his brother. Sam clings back desperately and pretends nothing else exists except this.

“Okay, first, my deal is not your fault. It was my decision and it was worth it. And second, what the hell do you mean, I keep dying?”

“We're in a time loop. You die and I wake up and it's Tuesday, every single time … I don't – I don't even know how many Tuesdays it's been already.”

There is a few seconds of stunned silence before Dean says,

“And what? You were gonna kill yourself to stop it?”

He pushes Sam back an arm's length so he can stare at him, clearly outraged.

“I thought it would reset it, I'm the only one who remembers it and maybe if the focus of the loop was removed...” Dean gives him a 'what-the-fuck' look and a flicker of anger spikes in Sam at being judged like that. “Look, I don't have any other leads, there's nothing! Do you know how many times I've had to watch you die already?”

Sam's voice is climbing higher and he consciously makes himself stop talking, breathing a little harder in agitation.

Dean shakes him by his shoulders and says, “This isn't the answer. Even if it worked and this time loop thing broke, I would still go to hell in a couple of months. And if you're not here I – God, Sammy, do you think there's any way I could fight to save myself if you're not here?”

Sam is already shaking his head before Dean even finishes.

“ _Dean_ … I can't do this anymore, I can't take any more Tuesdays.” They stretch out in front of him, an eternity of days watching Dean die in new and more inventive ways.

“You can.” Dean grips his shoulders firmly, an anchor to Sam's despair. “You can beat this thing, I know you can. But you can't-” Dean's voice breaks off. “You can't kill yourself.” _'Don't do that me'_ is unspoken. “You're stronger than this and you're gonna get us out of this.”

Sam gives a weak smile at Dean's certainty, his absolute faith in Sam's abilities; something Sam can't even begin to match. But maybe he doesn't have to.

“Okay,” Sam says. “Okay.”

If Dean believes in him he can.


End file.
